Check Mate
by sugardemonxo
Summary: The war is over and a few things have changed. Those things, in particular, are somewhere adjacent to Draco's feelings. After a chess game goes south, he reflects for a bit over a bottle of Firewhisky. Of course Potter had to mess that up, too. Post-War, Headcanons abound. Pre-Relationship/Early Friendship fic. Week 2 of a 52 week challenge. Prompt: Rising to a challenge.


**Author's Note:** I've done it again! This is all very rough, but I had a lot of fun writing it. THe end came out a bit rushed because I'm terrible at time management and needed to get this finished and submitted. Anyway, I hope it's not too cheesy. A bit of friendly fluff between two of my favorite boys. Please forgive any errors! I really hope you guys enjoy this and that I haven't butchered their characters too terribly. This is my first finished HP fic IN MY LIFE so any constructive crit is completely welcomed. Thanks for reading!

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Their whole lives had been a competition. They were never competing to be the same thing, but rather to see who could be the best at whatever thing they were. They always came up even, one always right behind the other. It only made sense, then, that they would be sitting here, now, locked in a painstaking game of chess in the Great Hall. Slytherin sat to one side, cheering and picking fights with the Gryffindors across the table. They weren't timing it, which was probably lucky as their game was nearing an hour in length. They spent as long as they needed adjusting their strategy, sometimes a little longer, just to piss the other off. That's what these two did.

Now that the war was over and everyone was trying to forget, Harry and Draco had to really work for things to fight about. Harry happened to know there was an open betting pool, and it was split almost evenly between the eighth year students. The bet was that either they would become an item or they would get into a fist fight before the end of the semester. Harry figured he'd play it by ear. Draco was never told about this pool – He was kinder and more subdued now, but he was still a malicious little shit, and neither Blaise nor Pansy were risking a hex to warn him about something so trivial. Other than that, Draco kept his nose out of things. He began spending more time alone and with books, now that he felt safe again. He saw his mother often and her face was pink instead of pallor and her hair was slick instead of straw. That was good enough for Draco.

Normally, a nearly grown young man would be embarrassed getting fussed over by his mum. In Draco's circumstances, being fussed over this way felt nice. Instead of having to worry he was going to be killed, or tortured, or commanded to commit some terrible, horrible thing, she was now able to worry if he was eating right, if he was studying, if he was making an effort to get along with that kind boy Harry Potter whom their family owed so much to. And they did, and Draco knew that. It didn't change the fact that he was an insufferable know-it-all. How dare Saint Potter be better at anything than him, really. He was even worse than Granger, these days.

Harry, on the other hand, was happy just have to have a stupid, silly game of chess and fuss over which house was better again. It seemed things were finally back to normal. There were still some wounds that needed licked from time to time, everyone had them. Draco's dark mark was now a scar, no one talked about it, and the girls swooned over it. Harry's scar was covered by the ridiculous mop he'd grown out, and people never quite forgot about it, but it was enough for him to pretend like it was gone.

For a while after the war, Harry was a celebrity. One could argue he had always been a celebrity, but he was previously able to walk the halls of Hogwarts without being asked for autographs on everything, always for someone's mum or brother or great second cousin. He didn't mind it very much, but he did miss his small slice of normalcy. All of the students and staff helped rebuild Hogwarts. Harry had never realized how many brilliant wizards he was surrounded by. It made him sad that everyone was fussing over a tosser like him when Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom existed. Eventually, though, the fuss died down, and people rarely asked him for things like photos or autographs, Rita Skeeter had lost interest and no one was trying to kill him anymore. He was already being offered jobs and internships inside of the Ministry. He always respectfully declined.

No one was really sure who issued this challenge. Draco definitely didn't, it's not like he sits and steams about how much he would just love to beat potter in a high stakes game of chess, not very often anyway. Harry didn't think he was the one who started it this time, at least he didn't specifically call him out. Perhaps he said something offhandedly that got him into this mess. It was known to happen. Anyway, the loser had to eat as many bad Every Flavour beans as they could, because that was a mature agreement to come to. Draco wasn't afraid of some stupid gag or of Harry sodding Potter, and as daft as it was he had to man up, lest people think he was.

So far, Harry was one step ahead, and Draco's team mates made damn well sure he knew it. It was Draco's turn and he was working out his strategy when he glanced up to find a smug smirk on Potter's stupid handsome face. It lit a fire in him.

"Got something to say, Potter?" He instigated, looking innocently down at the chess board, planning his assault. He couldn't let on to just how much Harry pissed him off. That would give Gryfinndor a bargaining chip, and he was not about to give them the satisfaction of knowing he was riled.

"Just that I'm going to enjoy seeing you retch when you lose," Harry replied, smirk intact. Gasps and oohs erupted from the crowd surrounding them. They had generated quite an audience now, even some Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students were getting pretty involved now. Gryffindors laughed at Harry's successful trash-talk. Slytherins rolled their eyes, muttering about things like maturity and over-compensation.

"Spend a lot of time enjoying people retching, do you?" Draco answered with a smirk of his own. Potter was pretty smug, but he could not top the kind of smug you learn upon birth into the Malfoy clan. Pansy erupted into shrill giggles, Katie Bell murmured something along the lines of "Sod off, Parkinson," and it was almost a situation. Draco took his turn, playing Potter into a bit of a tight spot and garnering more support from his silver and green comrades.

The smirk fell from Potter's face, dissolving instead into pure concentration, tsk-ing himself for giving Malfoy an opening and the upper hand. He was, however, just about to make the move that would seal the fate of Malfoy's King when Crookshanks came barreling down the table after a rather large spider, running over the board with no regard for their game of chess, knocking pieces in every direction. Draco masked his relief and cursed at the cat.

"Hermione! You've got to do something about that cat," Harry grumbled, though he really wasn't very upset about it.

"I'm sorry!" She whined, insisting that she'd tried spells and obedience training and had looked at all the books and still nothing had changed. She chased after the fat orange cat, defeated and all too willing to escape their criticisms. Draco stood and Harry grabbed his wrist without even thinking about it, something no one else had been bold enough to do since his return to Hogwarts.

"Where are you going?" His black hair looked like a creature's nest and his dark skin was gently dusted with moles and freckles. It baffled Draco how this walking imperfection could so put him to shame.

"I know you're not suggesting we set it back up and waste another hour and a half on this stupid bet." Draco jerked his wrist back in an effort to assert dominance. It didn't work, of course, because this was Harry bloody Potter, the Boy Who Lived (Twice) to utterly destroy a dark lord and end a war. Harry Potter, the crowning achievement of Hogwarts. Instead, Harry stood and extended a hand.

"A truce then?" Draco looked from his hand, to his face, over his shoulder to his friends, and back at his face. Whether it was an act or a genuine display, Harry didn't question. He simply splayed out his fingers, bouncing his hand a bit awkwardly to emphasize his seriousness. He talked a mean game but it was no skin off his back if he could keep anyone from spewing Any Flavour beans. Even Draco Malfoy.

"Are you stepping down, Potter?" Draco condescended. His skin looked like dewy porcelain and his silvery hair was much more relaxed now, he was actually a pretty handsome guy without the trademark sneer he coined in the early years. Harry briefly thought back to his first ride on the train when Malfoy extended his hand in friendship, how differently things might have been if he had said yes. He didn't regret it though, Malfoy was a git and he knew it himself, he was still trying to make up for it in everything he was.

"Only if you are," Harry insisted. "That's what a truce is." His arm was still extended and getting sort of tired now and he felt a bit like a fool if he was being honest, which surely pleased Malfoy and his group. Draco scoffed, grabbing Harry's hand and shaking it curtly.

"Fine, I didn't want to watch you be sick anyway," he chirped, pretending that he wasn't thrilled to touch Harry's hand, which was exactly opposite from his. Harry's hands were dark, calloused, warm. Draco's were slender, clammy, soft. Harry pretended not to be excited. They both broke contact as quickly as possible because neither of them particularly needed for people to think they were being friendly with each other, only perhaps it was too quickly, because people started grumbling and passing each other small pouches and raising eyebrows and throwing winks. Draco wasn't sure what that was all about and he wasn't about to ask. He made a grand exit from the Great Hall insisting he had more important things to do, and perhaps he did.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Draco was elegantly curled up in an armchair with a book and a glass of Firewhisky. The dungeon was mostly dead, a student wandering in or out every once in a while. Most of them were out enjoying nightlife or social gatherings. It had become ritualistic for the students to go out a couple of times per week, ever since the school was rebuilt. He almost always took the opportunity for some Draco-time. The dungeon was cool, but there was a fire crackling and the Firewhisky warmed him. He was reading muggle fiction, which wasn't very exciting for a wizard, but was amusing in an unintended way.

He was trying to unlearn his prejudice for muggles, and he thought consuming their media was a good start. He'd found, with some research, that actually quite a few enjoyable works had been written by mudbloods. _Half-bloods_. What was that riff about old habits? He heard footsteps behind him and tuned them out to the best of his ability, assuming it was another student coming to grab a book or a coat or trying to sneak a nap in.

"That's a good one," a too-familiar voice over his shoulder gave Draco a start. He screwed his eyes shut and took a few small breaths, trying to find his civility as well as ignoring how his unwanted visitor smelled like a crisp forest doused in cinnamon. How Harry Potter smelled was none of Draco Malfoy's concern.

"What?" He snipped, less eloquently than he had intended. What was he talking about? What was he doing here? What was he doing talking to Draco? And yet all he managed was a single, high pitched word.

"Lord of the Rings," Harry quipped back, never missing a beat. "It's a good trilogy. I read it a few years ago." Draco didn't recall asking, but okay. He sat near Draco with his elbows propped on his knees. "What part are you at?" Draco was flustered and frustrated and completely annoyed at this interruption.  
"I know it's a _good one_ , I'm reading it." Draco didn't look up from his pages, although his concentration was completely broken and he was considerably inebriated. He sighed, looking to his glass on the small end table to his left. "If you insist on pestering me, can I offer you a drink?" He wasn't sure why he was being hospitable. Technically, all students from all houses were allowed into any commons they fancied, but people tended not to fancy the Slytherin commons. Harry nodded. Draco poured himself another drink as well.

"Why are you here alone?" Harry took a swig of Firewhisky from his glass, adjusting to the taste of it.

"Why are you here at all?" Draco bit back, perhaps mistaking something in Potter's tone for ridicule. Harry's face morphed into surprise, his senses already seeming dulled by the alcohol.

"I'm sorry," He swallowed, running a long, dark hand through his ridiculous hair. "I didn't mean..." Draco knew Harry was a handsome guy, if not on his own then by the whispers in the halls. He was sure Harry knew, too.

"Haven't you heard?" Malfoy sipped his beverage, trying to look dignified rather than desperate not to be sober. "We Slytherins are party animals," he joked bitterly, although he wasn't all that bitter. "Everyone else is off doing Merlin only knows what, it's like this a couple of time a week, gives me time to read." He didn't know why he was divulging this information to Harry sodding Potter, of all people. Then again, maybe he did. He sighed. "Honestly, though," he deadpanned. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" Harry seemed flustered, wasting no time in nursing his own drink, taking gulps rather than sips and not even bothering to space them.

"I thought we could try again sometime," Harry's eyes already glistened with drunkenness. "The chess, I mean." He spluttered a bit, seeming to trip over his words. It wasn't as if he were the most eloquent wizard of all time, but even Draco was surprised by the rate at which his speech degraded. Draco dogeared the page he was on and set his book off to the side, turning a bit to face Potter and sighed.

"Honestly, Harry," he sipped his drink again. He had never called him by his name like this, not unless it was immediately followed by some slur or another. He didn't miss a beat, pretending instead that he had fully intended to be casual with his former rival. "My entire life has been a chess game. I'd rather play something else. It was a stupid bet." He chewed the inside of his cheek a bit, finishing his glass in no time at all. He had planned to leave it alone until Harry extended his glass.

"If you don't mind," Harry ducked his head, as if apologizing for making Draco go out of his way to fill his glass. Draco figured he may as well top himself off. He wasn't very well going to sit here watching The Boy Who Lived get drunk without him. He sighed again.

"You do that a lot," Harry noted, taking another decent sized swig. Draco sincerely hoped he knew what he was doing, he preferred not having to explain things like Harry Potter being sick and passed out on the dungeon floor.

"I'm tired of fighting," Draco murmured. He wasn't entirely sure where these soul-baring moments kept coming from, but they were betraying his dignity. He wasn't sure if he meant that he was tired of fighting with Harry, or if he meant something else entirely. It was easy to feel an emotional pull for someone who sat less than 2 feet away, sharing a drink. Draco felt that was true, anyway.

He was tired. In a lot of ways, he found. He had lost his hatred for Potter before the Dark Lord– the thought of him sent shivers and sickness through Draco – was even dead. He carried on because that's what he was expected to do. He carried on because he belonged to a school full of people who would shame him for falling from his supposed pedestal. His reputation didn't mean much to him, but people not bothering him for stupid reasons sounded promising. At the very least, he enjoyed their banter.

"So am I," Harry mused. His hair was ruffled and his scar was visible for the first time in a while. Draco tried not to stare at it. "So why are you reading muggle literature?" Harry was making a lot of observations, which Draco thought was a bit unusual for him. Generally speaking, he was about as observant as a brick wall, but tonight he seemed not to miss a beat. Draco was tired of small talk. He sighed.

"Because I've been a reprehensible git for the last 6 years at least," Draco remembered the time he stomped on Potter's nose and fought a shudder. "Lest we ever forget I served on the wrong side of the war." He joked dryly with a grimace. The scar on his arm was covered by two sleeves, but he still knew it was there. He wondered if that was how Harry's scar felt for him. As if reading his thoughts, Harry absently reached up to rub at the lightning bolt on his forehead. Harry caught his eyes and flashed a small, self-deprecating smile that took Draco's breath away.

"You weren't all bad." Harry was still wearing a small smile and glassy eyes. He seemed so much more at ease talking about everything than Draco felt. He wasn't sure if that was something he should envy or pity. He had a few small scars around his fingers and face, though none as famous as the lightning bolt. Draco spotted a small crescent near the base of his thumb, and decided that was his favorite one.

Slowly but surely, Slytherin students started filtering into the dungeons, some shocked at the presence of Harry Potter and some too drunk to notice. They both heard the whispers and only slightly cared. They were almost certain that by tomorrow things would go back to the way they were this morning, the way they always were. But this was something. It was a start.

Draco felt almost ashamed to admit to himself that he didn't want Potter to leave, but he knew even as it was he would have a lot of explaining ( _lying_ ) to do, so they both agreed it'd be best if he left. The Boy Who Lived slowly wobbled out of the Slytherin commons, somehow with a simultaneous bounce and slouch in his walk. He almost turned to look at his blond… acquaintance, but thought better of it. As he skulked back to his own commons, trying not to draw attention to himself, he thought there might be some weight to that betting pool after all.

And so the boys sat, in separate commons of separate houses, with similar smiles gracing their warm, pink faces. Stranger things had happened.


End file.
